


some kind of madness

by ginger__snapped



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, basically a lot of confusion and feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22625728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginger__snapped/pseuds/ginger__snapped
Summary: peter wakes up in a place he doesn't know, with people he doesn't recognize, and no idea who he is. but, the people around him seem to know him very well, and the whole ordeal seems to be hurting them more than it is peterin short, i suck at summaries, and this is an amnesia au where peter basically forgets everything
Relationships: Carol Danvers & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 85





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title inspired by madness by muse

Peter wakes slowly. 

His head is pounding, and his mouth is dry, and the bed doesn’t feel right. 

He reaches to the side, for no reason other than it feels like habit, but his hand hits a wall. Peter drags his heavy eyelids open, blinking wearily at the ceiling. 

He sits up, digging his palms into his eyes until he’s seeing swirling colors. The sheets don’t feel right, and he doesn’t think he can place anything around him. 

Peter looks around. 

He doesn’t know where he is. 

Peter tears the covers off of his body, not recognizing the pajama pants he’s wearing. He swings his legs off the bed, feet hitting the cold wood. 

He stumbles to his feet. 

A desk, bookshelves, posters, beanbags, a backpack, clothes, all things he doesn’t recognize. 

Where is he?

He opens the door, staring out. He’s looking out at an open area, on the second level. Glass windows make up a wall, the greenery outside unlike anywhere Peter has been. 

Peter wonders if he’s been kidnapped. 

All he knows is that he’s not anywhere he knows.

He almost runs down the stairs, eyes desperately searching. There’s a lounge, couches and chairs and a lot of high-tech equipment. Peter wanders through it, brow furrowing at the weapons casually scattered around. Guns, a few stray arrows, and loose machinery.

Peter can feel his pulse quickening, panic starting to set in. He’s in a completely foreign environment, with no idea where he is, and no idea how he got there. 

Peter walks through an opening and into a kitchen. He freezes upon seeing a figure, hunched over at the table, thankfully facing away from Peter. There’s a hologram spinning in front of the person, some design that Peter doesn’t understand. 

He moves to step backwards, and the floorboard creaks, the person’s head whipping around, vision locking on Peter. 

Peter’s eyes widen, watching fearfully as the person’s gaze relaxes upon seeing Peter before morphing into one of confusion. 

“Peter? What are you doing up? You’re still supposed to be in bed.”

Peter stares in confusion, mouth opening but not saying anything. 

“Peter?”

“I - what?” Peter asks, puzzlement evident in his voice. 

The person stands up, walking over to Peter. Peter stands in silence, fear freezing his body, as the stranger feels Peter’s forehead, frowning. 

“Who are you?” Peter asks. 

The person laughs, grinning. 

“My God, Pete, how many painkillers did Helen give you?”

Peter’s brow furrows. Who’s Helen? Why would he have any painkillers?

“I didn’t take any Advil,” Peter says dully, staring at the man. 

“Of course not,” the man says, tilting his head. “It doesn’t work on you - are you feeling okay, Peter?”

“Who are you?” Peter asks again, panic creeping into his voice. 

“I think you need to go back to sleep, come on-”

“Don’t touch me!” Peter exclaims, jumping backwards as the man reaches towards him. 

The man’s arm retracts quickly, confusion and hurt written on his face. 

“Where am I? Why am I here? Who are you? Why-”

“Peter!” 

He falls silent, breath coming quick with fear and panic. 

“Do you really not know who I am?”

“No! I don’t know where I am! I don’t know who you are! Who brought me here?” 

Peter watches as the man’s face morphs into one of pain, eyes filled with an emotion that Peter can’t place. 

“Peter, if this is a joke, it’s not funny.”

“It’s not. I don’t know where I am. And I don’t know who you are.”

Peter’s seated on a bed in the Medbay, as Tony (the man who Peter had met earlier) had called it. There’s a woman conversing with him in the corner, the two of them looking at Peter every once in a while. Peter’s swinging his legs back and forth, examining the pajama pants with a black webbed design on red fabric, and the oversized “I survived NYC” shirt. 

“Peter?” 

He lifts his head, watching nervously as the doctor and Tony walk to him, eyeing the clipboard in the doctor’s arms. 

“Do you mind filling this out with anything you remember?” 

Peter sighs. “Look, I really don’t know much of anything. I know my name’s Peter, but I couldn’t tell you anything further than that.” 

“Nothing else? Last name? Friends? Family?” 

Tony winces at the last one, and Peter stores that information in his relatively empty brain, not wanting to overanalyze that too much. He does try to wrack his memory, pleading with himself to come up with  _ something _ . But there isn’t anything. No faces, no names, no memories. Just… emptiness. 

“No,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.” 

They’re staring at him like he’s fragile. Like he’s prone to break at any second, like a gust of wind will shatter him. 

They are Tony and a red-headed lady named Natasha, who, quite frankly, intimidates Peter. They’re standing in the kitchen, talking in hushed whispers, staring at him as he eats the breakfast Natasha cooked up for him. He can hear their conversation, even though they’re a good distance away from him, and it kind of freaks him out. If he listens hard enough, he can even hear their heartbeats. 

He finishes the plate, trying to figure out how to ask for seconds, when the two make their way over to him, Natasha putting down another plate of food as they walk past. He stares, slightly dumbfounded, wondering how she knew. 

“You always eat seconds,” she says, lips quirking up into a sad half-smile. 

“Oh,” is all Peter can manage, focusing on the food in front of him. He hears the two retreat from the room, hears them walk throughout the building, and by the time he’s finished, one set of footsteps are walking back. 

Peter watches as Tony enters the kitchen, pours himself a cup of coffee, and sits down at the table across from Peter. Tony sighs, taking a long sip from his mug. 

“I suppose this is all very confusing for you, huh?”

Peter shrugs. “It’s weird, yeah. I… I’m not really sure, like, who you are, or your relationship to me, but I guess you’re not too bad.” He sighs. “I dunno. Like, I just… woke up here. And nothing felt right, but I legitimately don’t know anything about myself or my life.” 

Tony nods absentmindedly, seemingly analyzing Peter. “Anything seem...off? Like, not just the whole not having a memory thing, because that’s seriously shut, but like, anything just not feel right?” 

Peter swallows. Does Tony know about how Peter can hear his heart beating from the other room? Peter doesn’t think that that’s a normal thing humans can do. 

“Why?” he asks, trying to sound casual. 

“Kiddo, I’m trying to figure out how much of you is there.” 

Peter stares Tony in the eyes, debating whether or not to tell him. 

“No,” he finally says, voice surprisingly firm. “Other than the fact that suddenly my life’s gone to shit, everything is fine.” 

Tony doesn't look like he believes him, but he nods anyway. Peter stands. 

“Where should I put this?” he asks, gesturing towards the plate. 

“I’ll deal with it. You just… you can go to your room. Or explore. I don’t know. Do whatever you want. But Helen will need to run some more tests and take some scans later.” 

“And what if I don’t want her to?” Peter challenges. He’s tired and confused and doesn’t know what the hell is going on, and he just wants to curl up in a bed and cry. 

Tony rubs the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Pete, we just want to help. You...trusted us. We’re your —” Tony cuts off, exhaling slowly and closing his eyes. “We want you to be okay, Peter.” 

Peter doesn’t respond, just turns and walks out the door. 


	2. chapter 2

  
There are a lot of pictures. 

There’s a whole section of the wall in his room dedicated to photos. Peter drags the chair over to take them all down, and Tony walks in in the middle of his furious tearing, and the look of pain on his face is almost enough to make Peter stop. Almost. But he shoves them into a drawer in the desk, putting the framed pictures facedown. He doesn’t want to think about who he used to be at the moment. Doesn’t want to think about the fact that there’s a woman in a lot of the pictures who isn’t wherever he is. Doesn’t want to think about the picture of a girl with curly hair kissing his cheek, the two of them grinning. Doesn’t want to think about the fact that it looks a lot like the people he’s with are some kind of superheroes. Doesn’t want to even entertain the thought that he might be one of them. 

He doesn’t leave the room the whole next day, except to go out and get food. After stripping the room of memories that he should have, he curled up in the bed and stared at the wall until the door opened again, and someone was pulling back the covers and yanking him out of bed. 

“Come on, Parker, it’s time for a heart-to-heart between two people who suffer from memory loss.” 

Peter looks up in bewilderment at who’s dragging him out of bed, scrambling to maintain his balance. 

The person is someone he recognizes from the pictures. She has short blonde hair, dressed in jeans and a tank top, a well worn leather jacket over that. 

“I - what?” 

She doesn’t respond, just tugs him along through the halls until they reach a door, and Peter is greeted by the sight of a large gym, various equipment and weapons and the like scattered throughout. It’s huge, with a tall ceiling and spacious floor, a few doors leading off to different rooms. 

“So.” 

“Uh, so sorry, don’t know if you got the memo, but I don’t know anything. Like, don’t know who you are.” 

“I know.” She extends a hand, and Peter takes it. “Carol. Carol Danvers, local space bisexual and angry woman.” 

“Space?” 

There’s a flicker of something in Carol’s eyes, but she doesn’t do anything but grin wider. She lets go of Peter’s hand, turns, and suddenly something’s firing from her hand and into a wall. Peter yelps, jumping away. 

“What  _ was  _ that?” 

“Photon blast,” Carol says nonchalantly, sitting down on the ground and extending her legs out in front of her, resting back on her hands. “Why don’t you punch something?” 

“What?”

“Those punching bags,” Carol says, jerking her head in the direction of the row of bags. “Punch them. Trust me, it’ll help.” She switches to sitting cross-legged, leaning forward. “You’re angry. You might not think it, but you are. Just punch it.”

Mostly out of fear that she’ll drag him over to them, Peter goes, and lightly punches the bag. 

Carol laughs. “Come on, Parker, I know you can punch  _ much  _ harder than that.”

Peter raises his fists, but then pauses. 

“That’s the second time you’ve called me Parker,” he says. “I thought my name was Peter.”

“Oh -- yeah. It is. Parker’s your last name. Peter Parker.”

“Oh.”

Carol nods, and gestures encouragingly at the bag. 

“Go on.”

Peter punches. The bag swings a little. He punches again. 

_ Peter Parker. _

Another punch. 

_ Don’t know anything. _

Another punch. 

_ They act like I’ve killed the old Peter. _

Another punch. 

_ They know everything about me.  _ Punch.  _ I know nothing.  _ Punch.  _ They won’t tell me anything.  _ Punch. 

_ I’m angry. _

Peter sends his hardest punch into the bag, and it goes flying off the chain. His hand flies over his mouth, and Carol cheers. 

“I knew it was still in you! Stark thinks we shouldn’t tell you, but as someone who has endured memory loss, I think that this is good.” She waves a hand, beckoning him to come sit next to her. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter squeaks. “I don’t know how that happened.”

“Don’t stress, kid. Happens more often than you’d think. Now come on, let’s talk.”

Peter joins her, hugging his knees to his chest. “So you lost your memory too?”

Carol sighs. “Basically, I was a pilot for the Air Force, a plane crashed, I got hit by light from a cool stone, gained powers, was abducted by the Kree, and brainwashed into thinking that the Kree were the good guys. Then I was captured by the Skrulls, and crashed on Earth, realized my memory was stolen, and fought against the Kree. But, now I have my wife and kid back, and everyone here!” 

“Oh.” 

“Listen, Peter,” Carol says, leaning forward and placing her hands on his. “I know that you don’t want people telling you who you are. But Maria...she found me, and brought me back. She knew I was still  _ me _ , even if I didn’t know it. You’re in there, Peter. You just don’t know it. And I know it’s fucking infuriating, but the right people will always find you.”

“Can we talk about the punching bag?” He pauses, tilting his head, deciding if he trusts her. “And the fact that I can hear your heartbeat right now?”

Carol smiles, settling back again. “Of course. So, as you’ve probably figured out with that insanely smart brain of yours, this isn’t exactly...a normal household. We’re not all blood related, it’s overly humongous in here, all the weapons, the pictures I know you saw, and the medical wing inside the place. It’s not very subtle, I know, but it’s kinda necessary with all the shit we get up to.” She sighs. “We live in a crazy world, Peter. One with superheroes and villains and corrupt governments. And it’s up to us to help the world to be a safer place. We’re the Avengers, and I just want you to know that you are loved, and you are safe. We will do whatever it takes to make sure that you’re okay, even if it means a fresh restart on life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao this is shit but i needed to do something so sorry y’all had to suffer through that


	3. chapter 3

Peter feels like he’s walking on eggshells. He doesn’t know what he can and can’t say, what he can ask, and what they’ll tell him. 

He can sense that they care, really, but they’re all so...distressed. Tip-toeing around him like he’s a ticking bomb, set to explode at any moment. 

But it’s not like it’s his fault he lost his memory. He didn’t ask for it. The only one who treats him like anyone else is Carol, who talks and talks to him, letting him interrupt and ask questions. She doesn’t pretend that he’s someone else, just sees it as it is: he’s Peter, just without the memory. 

He thinks that the others just don’t know how to talk to him. He knows they want to, and he can see that they’re itching to hold him or laugh with him or whatever they used to do, but they don’t know...how. Like they’re scared he’ll run off, spooked like a deer, and they just won’t be able to handle it. 

But he wishes they would do something other than ask him if he’s okay. 

The week has mostly just been playing board games with Carol and listening to her talk about the Avengers, or her wife, or her kid, or just about something she heard. And it’s nice. Peter doesn’t feel like there are any expectations on him, like he should be someone else. 

They’re in the middle of Scrabble (which Peter is surprisingly good at), laying down on the soft rug in Peter’s room, when Tony comes in, looking a little nervous. 

Carol hops up quickly, sending a reassuring smile to Peter before walking out the door. Peter pushes himself up, staring expectantly at Tony. 

“Hey, kiddo. I...I think we should talk, yeah? Can’t let this fester any longer, I suppose.” 

Tony crossed his room, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot next to him. The way he looks at Peter, emotions swirling in his eyes, conveys a strong sense of love and worry, and Peter isn’t sure what to do with that. The thought of Tony cringing at the mention of Peter forgetting his family flits through his head. So does the picture of the woman with long brown hair and glasses and Tony standing on either side of a beaming Peter. 

He swallows, pushes the thoughts away. 

“So,” Tony starts. 

“So.”

There’s a beat of silence. 

Peter can’t help himself, and he blurts out “Are you my dad?”

Tony freezes. and Peter watches the range of emotions that cross his face. His features settle into one of mild pain, and Peter can see tears in the bottom of Tony’s eyes. 

“Not...not biologically.”

“Oh.” 

There’s another moment of silence. 

“This wasn’t what you wanted to talk about, was it.”

Tony sighs, long and sad. “I...wasn’t entirely sure what to talk about. I—I just...I want you to know that—” He stops, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to hate me. And I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, and I feel guilty because I’m not talking to you, and our whole relationship has crumbled to pieces, and, God, Pete, I just don’t know what to do.” 

Peter hesitantly wraps an arm around Tony, and suddenly, strong arms are enveloping him, pulling him into a place that sends Peter’s mind spinning. 

_ Home. _

His eyes fly open with a start, the smell of oil and aftershave and the scratch of a goatee and the way Tony holds him, full of love, makes Peter feel protected, like he  _ belongs _ . 

And before he knows it, he’s crying, salty tears running down his face and catching on his lips. 

“Oh, Peter,” Tony whispers, and pulls him impossibly closer. “Let’s start fresh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter whispers. “Let’s do that.”

***

Tony is much more approachable and open after their conversation. He takes Peter down to the lab, shows him his workspace, full of webshooter plans and scribbles and what looks like notes for school. 

They sit in a comfortable silence, Peter reacquainting himself with his work area, for a while. But Peter’s still thinking, and he still has so many questions. 

“Who...who’s the woman in those pictures?” he asks, looking up at Tony. “The one with the brown hair and glasses.”

Tony looks pained, again. 

“That--she--that’s May. She’s--was--your aunt.”

“Was?”

“Car crash.”

“Oh.”

“She loved you very much.”

“What about my parents?”

“Plane crash.”

“Did everyone in my family fucking die?” Peter asks bitterly, the urge to slam something onto the desk or throw something into a wall overwhelmingly strong. 

“Hey, I’m still kicking.”

Peter doesn’t respond, just sighs and slumps onto the desk.

***

Tony works with Peter to help him get readjusted to his powers. Peter is...shocked by his own strength, to say the least. Tony talks him through all his powers, tells him what his training regimen was, and basically lets Peter loose into the gym. Tony gives him his webshooters, and the feeling of pressing the button and swinging feels like instinct. Peter picks everything back up almost instantly, and he’s swinging and flipping around the gym like nothing’s changed. 

Tony watches him from the side, keeping a watchful eye as he flies through the air. Natasha comes in, and Peter watches them converse out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure out if he can cross the entire gym with only one web. 

Mid-calculation, Natasha calls him down, beckoning for him to follow her into the fighting ring. She wraps her hands and pulls on a padded helmet, tossing the same to Peter. 

“Remember, I’m not as enhanced as you, so please don’t knock me the fuck out. Just close your mind and do what feels right, yeah? It’ll be instinct.”

Peter nods, preparing himself before standing opposite Natasha, raising his fists. 

Natasha strikes first, lightning-fast, and Peter retaliates, losing himself in the fight. He ducks and swings and doesn’t think about it, adrenaline pumping through his veins. 

It ends with Natasha hooking her leg around his and flipping him onto his back, her legs pinning him down to the ground. She rolls off of him, letting him lay on the floor for a moment before extending a hand and pulling him up. 

“Good job,” she says, grinning. “Just a FYI, I always win. Don’t think this is just a memory loss thing.” 

“If you say so,” Peter says, grinning right back. 

He’s slightly sweaty, and his heart is pounding, but he feels happy, feels content. 

He feels like he belongs. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
> my [tumblr!](https://ginger--snapped.tumblr.com/)  
> come yell at me!


End file.
